Duty Before Honor
by DigMeAGarden
Summary: Roland is known for being a strong soldier, always committed to his duty and to protecting the innocent. He came to Pandora as part of the Crimson Lance, but he wasn't always a soldier. The origin story before the origin story.


"_I've got this running monolog, entertaining in its outrage,_

_ And I've got the air of an animal, thats been living in a cage."_

_ - Ani Difranco _

* * *

The wind rippled through the extra fabric hanging from the back of his durag as Roland stared out of the window in the back seat of the old beat up sedan. They were speeding down the highway, 20 miles over the limit, everyone was silent. It was hot and his shirt clung to him, beads of sweat stuck to his forehead and all Roland could think about was the job they had been sent to finish. The things desperate people do for money.

He owed. He owed a lot to the wrong person. His lender had been kind enough, when Roland had come up short at the deadline to let him work off this debt (a favor no doubt a rare one if it were not for his size). The kind of work he was given made him wish he had found some other way. He wasn't a law breaker. Yet. But robbing a bank would have been easier and more pleasant. He was part of the collecting team now. He and the three others in the car were on their way to collect from a client, if you could call her that, who had owed a very large sum of money for a very long time. The orders were to collect the money, or collect its equivalent. Roland had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that there was only one thing the boss considered equivalent.

They exited the freeway, and Roland pulled the gun out from the back of his pants. Turning it over in his hand he ran his fingers along every detail, he was only 17 and he talked a tough game but inside he was still a kid, he was just a scared kid. It comes with the curse of being an oldest child, people depend on you and if something happens you are the default whether you are ready for it or not. You have to sacrifice your dreams so that your siblings can have theirs for however long you can make them last. He couldn't let them down, not when everyone else they had ever depended on had failed, not him.

Holding the gun in his lap he looked back out the window, they were driving through a residential area now. Time was getting shorter, the task looming nearer and Roland tried not to let the fear show in his face. They pulled into the driveway of a run down looking house, the paint was peeling and some of the windows were boarded up from the outside, the lawn was over grown with weeds that had started to reclaim the once paved driveway. Roland clenched his jaw, here was the part he had rehearsed in his head over and over. Don't think, just do. Get the job done. No emotions, just the job, just the mission. The only way he knew how to deal. You do what you have to do.

The door burst from it's frame, the wood long rotten, was soft and offered no resistance to their entrance. The four of them sauntered into the house to find it dark and smelling of mildew. The furniture was outdated and dusty, the carpets worn threadbare. The high pitched, tell-tale ring of an old CRT television filled their ears and they all cringed at the sound. The world had surpassed that kind of technology long before any of these men were even born and their ears zeroed in on the noise like nails on a chalkboard.

Reaching the living room the men found the source. A hunched old woman sat in her power chair eyes wide, glued to the recording of Jeopardy playing on its screen. Her hair was a disheveled mess, dyed a shade of light pink which no doubt at one time had been red, bright red lipstick smeared her mouth and her eyes drooped heavy with layers of mascara. She did not look at them as they entered and it was not clear to them whether she even knew they were here.

One of the men stepped in front of the television, "Mrs. Hlubin do you have the money?" he said, looking down on her.

Her eyes did not move, she still did not seem to notice any change in the room around her.

"**Mrs. Hlubin, DO YOU HAVE THE MONEY?**" He repeated once more in a deep commanding voice.

Her eyes blinked a few times and her gaze then looked up to the man standing in front of her. Her mouth dropped open as if to say something and her eyebrows furrowed. Then, she smiled, a very sweet old lady smile riddled with pink lipstick smudged teeth. "Jordie, you're home! Oh sweetie! How was Allen's house? Did you two have fun?"

The man in front of the television looked down on her with a disgusted look, "Mrs. Hlubin, the money you borrowed, do, you, have, it?" these last few words were short and broken as if he was trying to speak with a caveman.

She squinted up at him once more, "My dear boy! Mommy only just took out that loan two days ago! You can't expect me to have it back so soon! Besides, you don't need to worry about those things yet, you're to young!"

"I'll take that as a 'no' then," the man heaved a deep sigh and stepped to the side, "Roland, you take care of this one, it's your _initiation_," as he said this he stepped close to Roland's face and smiled a toothy grin. Roland could see every tooth in this man's mouth, he clenched his jaw and nodded.

As the man walked through the door he signaled the other two to follow him, "Oh! And one more thing," he tossed a pair of pliers at Roland, "This bag is old, in her day, they gave these bitches gold teeth if one of 'em rotted. The boss wants those too when you're finished."

Roland was left alone now in the room with the old woman. Her gaze had returned to the gameshow on the television as if nothing had even happened. He stared at her, she'd had a family once, children and a husband. It was clear that she would never pay back the money, her memory stuck only two days after she'd borrowed it. He doubted she could even if she did remember. He stood in front of her now, gun in hand. It was a job, just a job. A simple instruction.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but I have my own debts to pay..." He raised the gun and pointed it at her head.

She looked up once more "Now listen Jordie, I don't want you worrying any more about that money do you hear me? It, well...it didn't help. I didn't want to have to tell you like this son, but...your father lost the trial. We have to take care of each other now. He won't be home for a long time sweetie, so it will be just you and me."

Roland stared, he was vaguely aware that he had begun grinding his teeth. Her story was not so much unlike his own, only that he had been fortunate enough to be young and strong. His finger quivered on the trigger. "I'm so sorry." He closed his eyes.

The sound it made he would never forget. The pop, the crack, the wet splatter. Now he needed her teeth.

...

Roland climbed into the back seat of the sedan clutching a fist of bloody golden teeth and handed the pliers back to the driver.

"You took care of it?" the driver asked.

Roland nodded, his jaw still clenched. If he did well, if he handled it well, the boss might let him off easy. He didn't want to show weakness to these men but inside he was screaming. The act he had just committed was not honorable or justified, and he felt an incredible amount of self loathing for having followed through with it. What other choice did he have? It could have easily been him in there with a bullet through his skull. But he had family to take care of, he had people depending on him and he would never forgive himself if he let them down.

* * *

The killing got easier and Roland learned to shut it out. It was almost like another personality. When he sat down to think about it, Roland even scared himself. What had he become?

The boss liked him alright, he was good at what he did and this earned Roland a seat of power. But the debt still hadn't been paid. It was only finished when the boss said, and Roland was beginning to think that it never would be. This debt would be held over his head until the day he died, whether that be from old age, from the job itself, and certainly if he quit Roland knew he would be hunted down and taken care of. He was digging his own grave no matter what direction he dug.

* * *

That's why, when Roland found himself in the back of a police car with the rest of his crew, he couldn't call himself surprised. In fact, it was almost a relief to him. He would finally have peace, justice and rest would come to those who'd he caused so much suffering, his own family included.

"You'll be going away for a long time, the shit that you've done boy, would make the devil cringe," one of his arresting officers sneered at him from the back seat.

Roland said nothing.

"You hear me?!" The officer slapped the cage that separated the front seat from the back.

Roland lifted his eyes to meet the officer's.

"I think we've got ourselves a martyr here Marty! Thinks he's tough shit!"

He was no martyr. He had no delusion about what he'd done.

* * *

Three days he sat in that cage in the police station waiting to be processed and moved to a different facility to await trial. During this time Roland had had plenty of time to reflect on the past few years of his life. He'd made a count of the lives he'd ruined and he'd asked every god from every religion he could think of for forgiveness. He doubted very heavily that he would receive any, he doubted very heavily that he even deserved any.

On the fourth day, Roland had a visitor.

A man in a suit was escorted in with an officer. They stopped in front of Roland and exchanged words in hushed voices. Watching them with intent Roland observed the new man standing in front of him. Hair slicked back, eye brows finely groomed, perfectly tailored suit. What could a man like this want with Roland? Maybe he was an attorney of some sort who had been assigned the unfortunate task of cleaning up the paperwork surrounding the case.

"Good afternoon, do you know who I am?" the man spoke to him now.

"No." Roland replied.

"I represent the Atlas Corporation. I have an offer for you."

Saying nothing Roland studied the man's face.

"I've heard about you, I know what you've done. I also know what the punishments are. I think it would be a waste to let those things happen to such a good," here he pause so as to put emphasis on what he would say next, "...Soldier."

"Soldier?" Roland repeated.

"The Atlas Corporation has great need of men like you. Leaders."

"Men like me..." Roland narrowed his eyes.

"You didn't ask for this did you? What you're in here for, it wasn't your business was it? Not your idea. Hm?"

"No. It wasn't."

"Then listen to what I have to say. I have the funds, right here and now, to get you out of here and take you off this planet. Clear your charges. Give you a new life and a new purpose. An honorable purpose. You'll need training but that is all in good time."

"What do I have to do?" Roland was interested.

"You just have to agree!"

"But my family..."

"What use will you be to them in here? We will take care of all of that. I knooow, I knooow you want to protect them is that right? The Atlas Corporation looks out for its employees, we will make sure they are safe."

It sounded to good to be true, but what other choice did he have? Even if this was a crooked offer it was still better than the alternative.

"What do you say..." the man looked down at a slip of paper in his hand, "...Roland...?" He offered his hand through the bars, "Do we have a deal?"

Roland hesitated, looking down at the man's hand, then slowly he reached out and shook it.

"Greaaaat! Guard, please unlock this door for me?" As the guard did as the man asked Roland saw Atlas rep. slip something into the guards hand.

The cage was open in front of him. The beginning of something new. Roland stepped out and the man in the suit put a hand on his shoulder.

"Where will I be going?" Roland asked the man.

"You'll be trained first. Then we have need of you on Pandora, soldier." The man smiled a crooked smile as he led Roland out of the holding station.

"I'll be there to protect people?"

"Oh yes, there is much that needs protecting. You can get the job done can't you, Roland?"

"Yes."

"Good. Good. Thats all you need to know. We leave first thing this evening."


End file.
